


courtship/hunger

by intimatopia



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Choking, Dom/sub, Fisting, M/M, Past Abuse, Self-Hatred, Spanking, Subspace, Wing Kink, liberties taken with the bauplan of angels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimatopia/pseuds/intimatopia
Summary: Akechi's a fallen angel with needs. Akira's only too happy to fulfill those needs.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 12
Kudos: 170





	courtship/hunger

**Author's Note:**

> i have literally only myself to blame. gave myself wrist pain writing this in a day. thanks to [v](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowns) for the beta ♡
> 
> [title](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49222/in-tennessee-i-found-a-firefly)

Technically, Akechi wasn’t an angel anymore.

Unfortunately, biology (did angels have biology?) didn’t care about technicalities. Akechi wasn’t an angel in heaven, but he was an angel in exile, and angels had been made first and foremost to _submit._

Akechi no longer had anyone to submit to. He liked it that way. It was why he’d left.

Just, the urge set in sometimes despite his best efforts. The desire to find a god and _worship,_ to be told what to do and revel in doing it just right.

What a horrible thing to make of someone. He resisted, of course. He’d built himself off of resisting, and he wasn’t going to give up anytime soon. But then the urge began interfering in his life, unintentional obedience when he hadn’t meant to, the simmering resentment that never quite went away, the hunger for someone to look at him and tell him he was _doing well._

He ended up at Akira’s place. Of course he did. The demon was the closest thing Akechi had a friend, though he wouldn’t have thought about it like that. _Rival,_ or _thorn in his side._ Someone he helped in return for...whatever this was.

Akira took one look at him and his eyes softened. Akechi hated that. He hated Akira’s kindness, so unlike what Akechi had long been taught demons were supposed to be like.

Demons were meant to be cruel, tricking gods and angels and mortals into striking deals that would backfire on them somewhere down the line. This deal hadn’t backfired on Akechi _yet,_ though he never quite stopped waiting for it.

Akechi had talked himself in and out of coming here a dozen times over the past couple years. Now that he _was_ here, it was nearly impossible to unlock his throat enough to ask for what he wanted. He hadn’t been taught to ask, only take what he was given and be grateful for it. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea—Akira’s eyes were steely, and their sharpness pierced the desire breaking Akechi’s mind and pulled it apart, filling Akechi’s head.

_Stupid demon magic,_ he thought spitefully, and ignored the guilt that followed just after. He’d come here to worship—he _hadn’t_ , he wasn’t going to—he _wanted—_

“Come in,” Akira said gently. No hint of order, but Akechi stepped inside like a puppet.

He closed his eyes and swallowed a whimper when Akira grabbed the back of his neck, squeezing lightly. Like a human with a kitten.

“You’re done fighting,” Akira said thoughtfully. 

Akechi didn’t nod. The grip Akira had on his throat prevented that. 

He didn’t nod because he _wasn’t_ done fighting. He’d _never_ be done fighting. He’d never…“Go inside and wait for me,” Akira continued. “Don’t do anything.”

Those were contradictory orders, sparking some flame of anxiety all angels carried around. _Made to obey,_ Akechi thought bitterly, as his feet carried him inside. His wings dragged on the carpet and brushed against the walls. _What a curse._

He’d seen his fellow angels be torn apart by contradictory orders. Gods sometimes gave them out for fun, like it was entertaining to watch an angel tear itself into parts just to find a way to do everything they were told to. Shattering in flame and feather and golden blood.

His hands curled. He uncurled them forcibly, thought about pacing around Akira’s bedroom and then _couldn’t._

Akira stepped in a few minutes later. “Goro, _breathe_.”

“You told me not to do _anything_ ,” Akechi sniped sulkily. But he dragged in a breath (not that he really needed one) and felt some relief at having air in his lungs again. Stupid fallen angel habits. He’d been one of the best angels before he fell. Now he couldn’t be trusted to hold his breath. He felt frantic and stupid, overwrought and never good enough.

“I did,” Akira sighed. “You’re all so literal.”

Akechi flinched.

“On the bed,” Akira ordered, voice calm. “Face down.”

He was fiddling with something in his hand, not that Akechi turned to look as he did what he’d been told. Obedience rankled but it also felt _good,_ some measure of relief at last from the crawling unease of being responsible for himself all the time.

Weak, weak angel. He’d given up heaven in order to do what he wanted, but he couldn’t handle it in the end. Proof he didn’t deserve it, just like his masters had told him when he fled.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Akira said softly. The bed dipped under his weight. “Goro, listen to me. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” Akechi choked out. “I’m listening.”

Soft _snicks_ , like something latching into place. “I’m going to take care of you,” Akira said. His voice was low and warm and sank through Akechi’s mind like syrup, an anchor in the storm of his own roiling anxiety. “You did good by coming here.” Akira’s hand was on his side suddenly, burning hot through his shirt. “I’m proud of you.”

_I don’t need you to be proud of me,_ Akechi wanted to say. He wanted to _mean_ it. But it felt so _good_ to be told he’d succeeded at something. He wanted to curl into the praise and beg for it.

He settled for shifting slightly. Akira’s hand tensed, and suddenly Akechi’s clothes were gone. Akira’s skin was even hotter without anything in the way, branding Akechi’s side. He imagined it sinking into his body and pulling out his organs, and ached with want.

Angels were so fucking stupid. They could be made to want anything, and before Akechi had run away he’d been talked into wanting a great many things.

The effects lingered.

He tried to distract himself by focusing on the smell of Akira’s pillow, liquid hellfire and soap—even demons used soap, and Akira used a pathetically cheap one—and raw power. Why didn’t demons have to suffer for their species the way angels did? It was so _unfair._

“There you go again,” Akira said exasperatedly. “I look away for a second and you’ve dropped yourself off some new cliff. Focus on my voice, Goro.”

“I would if you _talked,_ ” Akechi grumbled. The truth of Akira’s words was a trap he’d stepped right into.

Even unstated, Akira’s annoyance dug into Akechi’s senses like nails on a chalkboard.

“Sorry,” Akechi forced out.

“I don’t need you to be,” Akira sighed. “ _You_ need to be, though.”

He hummed consideringly, and then Akechi was being pulled around. He found himself repositioned in an ungainly sprawl over Akira’s lap, and hastily folded his wings away so as to not hit Akira in the face with them.

Akira didn’t warn him before the first blow, and Akechi didn’t try to prepare for it. He hadn’t been given permission to brace himself, and every misstep only brought him closer to the edge where he’d eventually need to ask permission to so much as twitch. The hit would’ve hurt no matter how prepared Akechi had been, though, drawing a stupid whine out of his throat. He swallowed and tried to remember himself.

Despite Akechi’s valiant attempt to hold onto his dignity, Akira stripped him of it with no apparent guilt about what he was doing to Akechi. Every hit hurt, and every one reminded Akechi why this was being done to him.

He was _bad._ He’d fucked up and fucked up and fucked up, and now Akira was going to punish him for it. And when he was done, Akechi would be alright again. Not _good,_ but good _enough._

“Please,” Akechi whispered. It hurt. Akira must’ve had to use magic to make it hurt that much.

It hurt, and it felt _good._ Pain had always felt good to him. He’d been bred that way, a sharp thing that craved punishment. The perfect kind of weapon.

He wasn’t a weapon right now. He was just—a mistake that needed fixing.

Akira would fix him.

Akira always fixed him, figuring out what Akechi wanted with no apparent effort. Oh, he’d fucked up a few times at the start, said or done things that made Akechi run away.

He hadn’t fucked up in a long time, though. No, it was only Akechi that kept making mistakes, kept forgetting himself and pushing at what Akira would allow so he’d be forced back into line. Akira was so good at drawing him back and breaking him. He’d do it right this time, too.

The thought unknotted some of the anxiety, and he surrendered to the pain. Lost track of how long it went on, trapped and entranced by Akira’s control.

He thought he was crying when he was done. At least, his eyes were blurry when Akira dragged him upright and pulled him close, letting Akechi bury his head against Akira’s blisteringly hot skin. His ass was stinging against Akira’s thighs, and Akira’s hot breath warmed Akechi’s cold ears. He hadn’t even realized his ears were cold. 

“You took that so well,” Akira murmured. “Barely even flinched, huh?” Akechi blinked against Akira’s shoulder. He hadn’t expected to be praised right now. “No wonder they hurt you so much, you poor dear thing.”

Pity always soured Akechi’s temper, but nothing could break through the relief right now. He’d done well, and Akira wanted him to know that. Enough, or nearly enough.

He wanted to ask for something, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He pressed himself against Akira and whined incoherently, begging without words.

“Yes, angel,” Akira said. He sounded a tad dry, and Akechi drew back. Had he messed up again? “Oh, relax. I’ve got you, I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

Akechi couldn’t _not_ do that. He couldn’t find the strength to argue when Akira laid him down again, tracing the twin scars next to his spine. His hands were hellfire hot, hotter still for having spanked Akechi. Maybe it just felt worse to Akechi because angels had such icy skin.

Akira could’ve burnt him without effort. Akechi wondered if he would, if Akechi found a way to beg right and pretty. His sigil in Akechi’s skin, claiming him for all time.

He couldn’t remember why that was a bad idea. He couldn’t remember why he hadn’t done that before now.

This arrangement had started a long time back, after all. Akechi’s help in the tasks Akira set himself to in exchange for someone who’d put him down and bring him back up without asking for more than that. But Akira could’ve asked, and Akechi wouldn’t have considered denying him.

Although it was only that Akechi could trust Akira not to ask that kept him coming back to this arrangement. Those concerns were too distant right now.

“Wanna get your wings out for me?” Akira asked, and Akechi found that he did.

He sobbed when Akira began to stroke along the pinions, fluttering helplessly. _No one_ touched his wings—he didn’t let them. The feathers were far too fragile, far too sensitive. Even the faint touch of Akira’s fingers sent sweet shockwaves through Akechi’s entire being.

“When was the last time you groomed these?” Akira asked disapprovingly.

“Years,” Akechi mumbled, wilting. He didn’t like touching them. Too many memories of other gods and masters, too many memories of times Akira had pinned him down and groomed him until he behaved.

“ _Goro._ ”

Akechi flinched.

“Hey, hey,” Akira said softly. “I’m glad you came to me. Can I groom them for you?”

Could he? He could do whatever he wanted, and Akechi wouldn’t have found anything within himself to mind. He could’ve shredded Akechi’s wings as punishment for not taking care of them and Akechi would’ve borne the pain.

Some part of himself was horrified by this, horrified by how easily and vapidly Akechi was giving in to his baser instincts. But it was a distant part, and he hadn’t been allowed to listen to it.

“Goro?”

“Yes,” Akechi gasped. “Anything, please…”

“Oh, angel,” Akira murmured. His hands kept stroking, not just the outer feathers now but the small, delicate feathers closer to Akechi’s body. His hands were hot enough to melt the fluff, but he was careful. He was so careful, and it felt _lovely._ The pleasure dripped through Akechi’s mind like velvety honey, sticky and rich. He was hard, cock pressed against the bed and dripping, but in some addled way that didn’t matter either. Neither did the throbbing, awful emptiness of his hole. Nothing mattered except Akira’s capable, gentle hands on Akechi’s wings, the delirious pain when he found a crooked or twisted feather and straightened it into place and the deeper, sweeter ache when he crushed downy fluff between his searing hands, pressing and kneading and _guiding._

Akechi felt drowned and broken by pleasure, confused by satiation after decades of frustrated hunger. He couldn’t think or speak, could only breathe because the ichor in his veins remembered Akira’s orders.

There had been no order to keep his wings still; shame flushed through him when Akira’s demonic magic wrapped around them, steadying them in the air with fiery glass wire. But even that couldn’t cut through the liquid languor of belonging wholly to someone other than himself, the quenching of years of desperation. He was here and he was doing what he was meant to—anything else was secondary. Akira would tell him if he wanted Akechi to do anything. 

He didn’t even remember to ask if this was grating on Akira. Akechi was a terrible angel to care for at the best of times. Wasn’t Akira bored? If he’d been better, he’d have asked.

If Akechi thought about it, he couldn’t quite recall why Akira had agreed to this arrangement at all. It wasn’t like he lacked for people wanting to help him—as a demon, he struck deals all the time, and he could have found half a dozen people whose power amounted to Akechi’s.

But he _had_ agreed. Akira’s door was always open to Akechi, even when he needed nothing more than a closet to curl up in and a hot mug of coffee.

He didn’t know what Akira got out of it. He didn’t dare ask, too afraid the answer would amount to pity, or—worse—the sentimentality that Akira was prone to; he’d tell Akechi he _wanted_ him and then he’d have to find a way to leave anyway.

The cost of staying was too high. Akechi hadn’t been built for the kind of love Akira gave.

Which didn’t stop Akira from finding ways to give it to him anyway, his hands sure and firm as they caressed and refolded Akechi’s wings. It burnt him to receive this. He didn’t deserve it—but clearly Akira disagreed. 

So Akechi cried silently into the sheets and surrendered entirely.

Later he’d be frightened of the depth of need he carried. Right now he wasn’t capable of anything but giving in, oversharp mind softened by hot sugary desire and greed, hemmed in by Akira’s capable care and overwhelmed past the point of resentment or mistrust.

“Alright,” Akira said a long time later. Akechi hummed, his entire being tuned to Akira’s smallest movements. The magic keeping his wings still as Akira worked dissipated slowly, but Akira’s hands remained on Akechi’s wings, scratching softly into the semiplumes. “How do you feel, Goro?”

“Good,” Akechi admitted. Answering broke through the thinnest layer of his submission. He shifted slightly and stretched, wings quivering.

“Thought that’d work,” Akira laughed.

Akechi thought he knew what was coming next, but it still wasn’t his job to predict things. He felt curiously lazy, as though he’d done any work at all in return for what Akira had given him. He _should_ have had to work for it—no previous master had allowed Akechi so much for so little. But Akira didn’t seem to mind, and Akechi couldn’t muster up the energy to worry when Akira hadn’t told him to.

Still he was proved right when Akira’s fingers found the hole between Akechi’s legs. His cock still ached, untouched and hard, but that had never been meant to provide pleasure.

No, Akechi’s entire body was designed to please someone else. The wet heat of his cunt was just another part of that. He whimpered, dazed, when Akira pushed his fingers in. It didn’t hurt—it wouldn’t have mattered if it had—it just felt _right_ , like he was finally doing what he’d been made for.

“So wet,” Akira crooned. “Just for me, angel?”

_Yes,_ Akechi thought as hard as he could. He couldn’t remember how to speak, not with Akira’s fingers stroking inside him. _Only for you._

Akira must’ve heard him, because he groaned and leaned down to kiss Akechi’s skin.

It _did_ hurt when the blunt head of Akira’s cock pressed against his hole, even as his cunt relaxed and allowed him in. Akira was big, and there was no way it wasn’t going to hurt. The pain sang up Akechi’s spine, the thrill of suffering for someone else’s delight ringing through him. “Fuck,” Akira ground out. “Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

Akechi _preened._

“There you are,” Akira said. His body radiated cruel heat as he leaned over Akechi, his cock practically forcing Akechi open. But he was gentle, unforgivably kind just for considering giving this to Akechi. He’d hardly earned how good he felt right now, though Akira made it seem like he had always been enough.

Deep down Akechi knew it wasn’t true. Angels were hollow, needy things. No amount of rebellion would change the core of Akechi’s self, that inane hunger to worship. All the ideals he’d been made to fall short of so others could be entertained by his desperation to make up for his lack.

_Akira_ didn’t punish him for it. Even the pain wasn’t punishment, just another mark of how stupidly loving Akira could be where angels were (where _Akechi_ was) concerned.

The thoughts swept through Akechi’s mind without leaving a mark.

Perhaps Akira’s cock wasn’t the largest Akechi had taken, but all the rest had been a long time ago. And it had been a long time since he’d taken this too—it was too much _now_ , too much and not quite enough. Akira’s thrusts were measured; he snapped his hips up at a brutal pace, never letting Akechi get used to what was happening. 

He didn’t need to be _used_ to it to _take_ it, though. His own cock wept, but he kept quiet and still and easy for Akira, letting him fuck Akechi as hard as he pleased. He was ruthless, his cock hard and hot and stretching Akechi to his limit—where that limit was was more Akira’s call than Akechi’s. He’d have let Akira put it anywhere. He’d have let Akira break him open and fuck the remains, if that was what he wanted.

“You,” Akira groaned. “You’re so _good_ , Goro. So sweet, just for me. You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”

Akechi nodded frantically. Akira grinned, his body weighing Akechi down and his cock reshaping Akechi’s insides. It didn’t hurt anymore, it just felt _good_ in some encompassing way that went beyond plain biology. Akechi couldn’t have begged if he’d wanted to, but he had nothing to beg _for._ He’d never been more content with his place.

Akira’s come seared his insides, his seed digging cruelly deep inside Akechi. Akechi didn’t care, though. He didn’t care about anything but pleasing Akira, and if this pleased him—

“Fuck,” Akira moaned, collapsing on top of Akechi. His heat curled through Akechi’s body, warming him from the inside out. Another layer of control, another sweet trap to lose himself in as Akira stroked his sides and praised him. 

He clung mindlessly to Akira, tucking his head in against Akira’s chest and trying to regain some semblance of dignity. It was no good. He was further gone when Akira kissed the top of his head and told him to rest, sleep pulling him under at once.

He slept for a long time, better than he had in years. When he woke up, it was to the feeling of Akira’s fingers inside him, his hot forked tongue curled around the tip of Akechi’s cock. His head was clearer now, but not clear enough to argue as Akira coaxed him loose, teasing him to the edge of orgasm before pulling back.

It would take more than that to make Akechi come. His entire body ached with pleasure, and more would’ve ruined him. Akira didn’t share his concerns, though, dragging Akechi to the edge again.

He’d worked his way up to four fingers, still not as thick as his cock. Akechi whimpered and spread his legs wider, and Akira closed his mouth around the tip of Akechi’s cock just as he shoved the last finger inside. And then _kept going,_ until his entire fist was bruising Akechi’s insides.

There were tears in Akechi’s eyes. He blinked them away and tried to focus on anything other than coming. He wanted so badly it hurt to hold back, his veins taut and bright.

Akira hadn’t given him permission, though. He didn’t seem remotely inclined to talk, to do anything except suck hotly at Akechi’s sensitive dick and fuck Akechi with his fist. It felt so good Akechi thought he might have evaporated through it, held carefully on the edge of a knife.

Twice more, and Akira looked up at last. “Listening?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Akechi forced out.

Akira smiled crookedly at him. Akechi was suddenly afraid. “You’re going to touch yourself,” Akira purred. “One hand, on your throat. Make sure you can breathe enough that you don’t pass out, but _just_ that. And you can come when you feel like it. Understood?”

With anyone else, Akechi would’ve been afraid. He would’ve fled right there, pleasure be damned. But Akira wouldn’t—had never hurt him. If he wanted this…

Akechi couldn’t deny that he himself didn’t.

He wrapped his hand around his throat as Akira leaned down to lick his cock again. He didn’t have to talk himself into pressing harder, denying himself a little further. It felt strangely sweet, air unnecessary to angels and therefore easy enough to take away. His lungs burnt and he squeezed harder, until his eyes swam and stung with tears.

Akira took him all the way in, the hot clutch of his mouth impossibly good around Akechi’s cock. 

He didn’t get to warn either of them, hardly knew past the lack of air and overwhelming pleasure when his self-control finally snapped and he came down Akira’s throat, shattered by wave after wave of red-gold delight.

“Good boy,” Akira murmured. “You can stop now.”

Akechi let his hand fall away, trembling. He couldn’t stop crying, and it only got worse when Akira eased his fist out. He didn’t want to be empty, didn’t want to go back to being good for nothing and no one.

“Goro,” Akira said softly. “C’mere.” He gathered Akechi up without waiting for an answer, rubbing his sensitive skin and the base of his wings. “You did so well for me.”

“You—you think?” Akechi spat out, bitter and contrary. The comedown was the worst part.

Akira’s hand found the back of Akechi’s neck, and he pressed the light bruises Akechi had left. 

Sometimes Akechi left right after, without letting Akira take care of him. He should have done that now, but his body felt warm and safe in a way he was entirely unused to and stupidly greedy for. He so rarely let himself have this, dragging out the time between encounters until his bones ached from carrying around the brutal need leftover from his origins.

“I do,” Akira said simply. “Rest, for now.”

Akechi rankled at the order, but the majority of his mind still wished to give in, and he couldn’t fight it at such close quarters. Backed into a corner, he gave in with only a little grumbling, letting Akira wrap himself around Akechi and worry stinging marks into the once-branded skin of Akechi’s shoulder. A god’s mark had rested there a long time ago, before Akechi had ripped it off. “Don’t try anything,” Akechi warned.

Akira’s laugh rumbled through both of them. “I wouldn’t dare,” he said, amused. “I wouldn’t _dare_ tie you down, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> [18+ twitter](https://twitter.com/misgcnder) \- come watch me clown myself. comments help me write!


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